What Stands Between
by Mandolin77
Summary: Hatred is something Jazz is used to, but maybe what they really need now is love... no matter where that love comes from.  Yaoi, lemon, FuguexFrederic.
1. Chapter 1

**Warnings for language and OOCness in this chapter and lemon, fluff, angst, and yaoi in future chapter(s).**

Jazz sighed, ducking to avoid the low-hanging branches he could just make out in the moonlight. 'Fucked up' didn't even _start_ to do his life justice.

He had spent the night arguing with Crescendo and ex-spy fiancé about the good of the people, Falsetto was off leading the rebellion since Jazz was "too much of a coward to do it," Allegretto was stuck in the infirmary after getting himself spitted, the children were tired and restless after living for so long on combat-time, and Frederic – the peace maker of the family – was moody and withdrawn, spending half the time locked in his room. Jazz kept meaning to find something to brighten everyone's day, when he had the chance.

He never had the chance, though; that was the problem. There was an entire mutinous, leaderless kingdom to deal with now that Waltz was gone. Prince Crescendo's father was on his deathbed, Serenade's place as future queen in serious debate, and while their crisis played out Andantino suffered from lack of funding, lack of supplies, lack of weapons and clothes and doctors and survivors. Those that still supported Waltz were out for blood, and it wasn't safe anywhere anymore. Jazz was putting his life on the line by coming home from Baroque so late at night, and although cutting through the woods was twice as fast as going around, the place was dark and crowded with shapeless trees: the perfect place for assassination attempts.

He sighed again. This madness was taking a toll on all of them, and there wasn't much of an end in sight. Tempers were running high, and if the angry civilians of Forte didn't kill them, they'd probably rip each other apart instead. It was too dangerous for the kids to go outside and the grown-ups were high strung, and truth be told Jazz wasn't sure he _wanted_ to go home. The only person who hadn't screamed or cried in the last week was Frederic, who instead seemed to be living in a dream world, disconnected from everyone else. He seemed tired and apathetic… lonely, almost, and the rebellion leader had to wonder if in his mind he was back in Paris.

It was hard enough to lose Claves so suddenly, but it was another thing altogether to watch the man he regarded as his brother waste away, dying by his own hand. And yet, Jazz didn't care enough to confront him about it. He felt the guilt in his throat again, that feeling, that gods damned _feeling _that there was something he was missing, something obvious he always overlooked.

Before his thoughts could go any further, something ahead of him moved in the darkness. Jazz stopped dead. The soft rustling of leaves and twigs continued, and he could tell it wasn't an animal. It was definitely a person… a person trying very hard to be quiet, although it was obvious they had no formal training.

Damn it. He didn't want any more civilian blood on his hands. He readied his blade just in case, and took a step back into the dense underbrush. With any luck they wouldn't notice him, maybe walk right past, and no one would get hurt. He took another step back and a dead branch snapped under his boot.

Damn it all! He held his breath as the footsteps got closer, trying to make himself as small as possible. He really didn't want to deal with this tonight.

"Fugue…?" Jazz jumped a little, not because of the proximity of the voice but because of the voice itself. "Is that you?"

And between the leaves the swordsman could make out a mass of violet and white, moving slowly and scanning the surrounding trees.

"Frederic." Jazz moved out of his hiding place, right in front of his friend. Frederic made a small, chocked noise in the back of his throat, obviously fighting the urge to run. Instead he backed away a few paces, both hands held out before him as though afraid of being struck.

"O-oh, hi," he managed, sinking a little against a tree trunk.

"Are you alright?" Jazz demanded, coming closer and laying a hand on both his trembling shoulders. "What happened? What's wrong?"

Frederic opened and closed his mouth, though no sound came out. He looked like a frightened deer, wide, glossy eyes reflecting the dappled moonlight, every muscle tensed to run. Jazz shook him a little.

"Look at me. What's going on?"

Another voice, maybe a hundred yards away, rang through the cold night air. "Frederic!"

Jazz glanced off to his left and then back to the man in front of him, alarmed. Who the hell–

But before he could get any words out, Frederic broke away and took off running in the opposite direction, away from the voice. What the _hell_? Jazz hesitated for a moment before deciding to chase after the composer, leaving whatever evil that had scared the man away to lurk in the undergrowth.

For being so small the pianist was much faster than they gave him credit for, and it took Jazz nearly a full minute to catch up with him. He took the slighter man in a backwards hug to keep from harming him, pulling the struggling mass of violet up close to his chest and wrapping his free arm about his legs.

"Frederic, what the fuck?"

Frederic thrashed for another moment before going limp. Jazz frowned. Usually he was too proud to let anyone touch him, let alone hold him like this.

Suddenly the swordsman regretted being so harsh.

"Frederic, are you okay?" Silently the man nodded, and Jazz realized he was crying. Oh, gods. "Don't cry! Are you hurt?" Jazz stood him up carefully and ran one hand down his shirtfront, checking for wounds. "What's wrong?"

Finally Frederic found his voice again. "N-no, I'm not… I'm not hurt, Jazz, I'm alright." Feebly he pushed the large hand away. "It's alright."

"It's not alright or you wouldn't be crying! What's the matter?"

The pianist licked his lips, and Jazz could almost see the gears in his head running, trying to come up with a believable excuse. "I- you frightened me. I must have been sleepwalking, and it startled me to wake in the middle of the forest when I remember being in bed. I am awake now, though, so please don't worry about it any longer." He gave a half-hearted smile that Jazz didn't return, didn't believe. It hurt to know his friend didn't trust him enough to tell him the truth, but it hurt even more to know that he was helpless to do anything about it. If he confronted him about it, Frederic would just give him another bullshit explanation and withdraw further… but if he _didn't_ confront him, the man might get himself killed wandering out in the forest all hours of the night.

"Have you been sleepwalking a lot lately?"

"I am… not sure. That would certainly explain quite a bit, wouldn't it?" Frederic smiled again, straightening up, and Jazz could tell he was eager to get away as soon as possible.

"Well, let's get home and we'll figure this all out in the morning." He took Frederic's arm and began leading him back towards the caves, noting the way his friend looked almost wistfully over his shoulder at the dark mass of trees. "You coming?"

"Hm? Oh, yes." With his free hand he touched his hair, as though that were meant to be an explanation. "I was, ah, wondering where my hat got to, that's all."

"It's too late to go look for it tonight." Frederic nodded, stealing one more longing glance before allowing himself to be led back to bed.

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**Wow... hi! It's been a while! ^-^ I'm not entirely happy with this chapter, but I have the day off today (shh, I'm supposed to be sick XD) and this story WILL NOT leave me alone, so I'm posting it anyway. Any comments or suggestions are welcome as always. **

** This story (an eventual Fugue x Frederic, if you hadn't noticed) is dedicated to all the lovely people who read, reviewed, and faved my earlier story "The Angel and the Demon." That was my first lemon and my very, very first yaoi, so all the support and love was much appreciated. Thanks, everyone! 3 **


	2. Chapter 2

Jazz didn't sleep that night – not that there had been much time left for sleeping anyway. Instead he stayed up and watched Frederic's door until the morning bell rang, waiting for the man to come sneaking out again, perhaps still on the pretense that he was sleep walking. Everything was quiet, though, and even after the first bell had roused everyone else Frederic was still locked up in his room. Viola promised to check in on him, and Jazz, with no real excuse to stay, left reluctantly for training.

Of course, it wasn't as though training were a bad thing. He forgot sometimes how much he liked fighting with the new recruits, pulling them all out of their comfort zone until they had to fight back. Swords weren't like emotions; they didn't need to be handled delicately or with a careful hand. You couldn't look away and pretend nothing was wrong when a blade was coming at you, and you couldn't just hide from an approaching army. You either had to block the attack, face the army, or risk your own life and those of your troops. React or die. Fight or flight. He wished everything could be as black and white as war, with a good side and a bad side and no room in between.

"If you're not with us," he told the weary soldiers around him, "you're against us." And gods, if those words didn't feel good on his tongue.

After lunch Jazz wound his way back to where he had left Viola, grabbing sandwiches for both of them. He found her cross-legged on the floor of the sitting room, fashioning new arrows out of the broken stubs of other ones. "Hey."

"Hey. He's not up yet." Viola took her sandwich without ceremony and crammed half of it into her mouth. Jazz blinked.

"What do you mean, he's not up?"

She shrugged, swallowing. "I mean he's not awake yet."

"Did you check?"

"No, Jazz, I'm psychic. Of course I went in and checked! He's been asleep ever since you left. Maybe he caught a cold or something."

Jazz frowned. "I doubt it."

Viola rolled her eyes. "Well, why don't you go check for yourself, you're so worried about it."

So he set his lunch on the table and knocked gently on the door before pushing it open. Sure enough there was Frederic, fast asleep under the covers, a mess of dark hair against white sheets. Jazz paused in the doorway and after a moment he came closer, shutting the door behind him to examine the figure in the bed. He had been worried that Frederic had snuck out at some point without his notice, but obviously his fears had been misplaced.

"What am I going to do with you?" The pianist sighed softly in his sleep and turned his head to one side. Jazz stopped short. "Gods. You have got to be kidding me."

Frederic's pale neck was littered with red and purple bruises, but not just _any _bruises – hickeys. Embarrassingly large, teenage style hickeys that must have been accumulating for weeks or months, hidden under the neckerchief and starched collar.

Jazz didn't know whether to be happy or upset, but either way he was relieved to finally have an explanation for all the bizarre behavior: Frederic had a lover.

It did really make sense when you thought about it. That was, of course, who he had been sneaking out to see at night, and probably why he was so anxious and withdrawn. Jazz had plenty of experience being away from lovers; he knew how hard it was to be in one place when your heart longed to be somewhere else. He wished Frederic would have told him, though! If nothing else, Jazz could have provided some sympathy, a shoulder to cry on if one was needed. He couldn't do anything when he was kept in the dark.

Over their make-shift dinner that night they made polite small talk, asking after each other's days and what they planned to do tomorrow. Frederic sat with them but his mind was clearly on something, some_one,_ else. He stared at the glowing fire embers, his chin in one hand, and every once in a while a small smile would play at the edges of his mouth as though he were imagining what the rest of the night might bring.

"So, what happened to your neck?" Jazz tried to sound casual, tried not to betray the hurt and joy that ached in his chest when he saw his friend smiling to himself. "Frederic?"

The man's head snapped up, and he had that same wide-eyed look he'd been wearing last night, like a child with his hand in the cookie jar. Polka giggled.

"I-I'm sorry, I was not listening."

"Obviously," Viola muttered.

Jazz didn't mind, though. "Your neck. What happened to it?"

The color drained from Frederic's cheeks entirely, and one hand flew to the white ribbon around his throat. "What?"

Jazz paused. He hadn't been meaning to cause a panic attack, he just… he just wanted some way to tell his friend that he knew, and that it was okay. "It looks as though someone bit you, are you alright? It's all bruised."

Frederic pulled the collar up higher, trying to smile. "Oh, is it truly? I must not have noticed. It doesn't hurt."

"Well that's good."

"You know," Falsetto interjected, her fork pointed across the table at Frederic, "you ought to have that looked at. The spiders around here are poisonous."

"Are they? I was unaware."

And Falsetto went off on some tangent about how the insects came down from Adagio Swamp when the weather turned cooler and why they were venomous and what happened if you were bitten. Jazz pretended to listen although he already knew everything she was saying – he had been the one to tell herall this in the first place – and while he sat he tried to read Frederic's mind. He was probably zoning out too, but at least he had the sense to keep nodding and asking questions here and there so it looked like he was intrigued. Every so often his eyes would flicker up to the high window at the back of the room, and Jazz wished again that Frederic would talk to him. He wished he could give the man advice on what places were most dangerous at night, what things to look out for, where to go when the moon was full to avoid being seen. He had so much to say.

"Jazz!"

He started and blinked as Falsetto's voice dragged him out of his musing, a little chagrined to realize he had been staring at the pianist across from him. "Yeah?"

"I asked you what the title of that book you told me about was. Frederic wants to know."

Jazz snorted and told her, watching as Frederic pretended to give a damn what the book title was. They talked for a little while longer before Frederic managed to disentangle himself from the conversation, claiming politely his exhaustion and making a break for the bedrooms. Jazz followed him into the hallway, laying one hand on his shoulder in a way he hoped seemed brotherly. Frederic looked up in mild confusion.

"Can I help you, Jazz?" He almost said yes. He almost demanded an explanation there and then, almost admitted to his friend how worried he was, how much it pained him to be lied to, how much he wanted to _help_… but he didn't. Instead he took his hand away and tried to look concerned.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

Frederic almost grinned, a boyish gleam coming into his eyes. "I am more than sure."

Jazz nodded and watched the man walk away, and even though it hurt it felt wonderful too, to know his friend was happy for the first time in years.

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**Lemon in the next chapter! XD**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hi again! Sorry this took so long to get this uploaded... but as promised, there is a lemon! 8D And it's super long to make up for the lateness. This chapter hasn't been beta-ed or edited, but I hope you still like it. ^^'' Citrus isn't my strong point, haha. **

**Warnings: Yaoi, smut, fluff, angst, voyeurism, strong language.**

* * *

Jazz jumped as the stillness of the night was broken by the sound of something heavy hitting the ground in the adjoining room. Then came muted cursing and he relaxed a little, smiling. It was only Frederic. Doing what he didn't know – probably stealing out again, going in search of some lover-girl that was waiting.

His thoughts were broken by a hard knock at the door, and before he could say anything Falsetto was coming in, both hands on her hips.

"What do we do now?" she demanded.f

He looked up at her from where he was sitting. "Do about what?"

"Didn't they tell you?" He shook his head and she huffed. "Damn recruits."

"What do we do about _what_?"

"There's been an enemy sighing in the forest; one of Waltz's men. There've been a couple reports, but no one knows for sure where he ended up. He's just out wandering free."

This time it was Jazz's turn to frown. "Was he close by when he was sighted?"

"No."

"Was he headed this way? There's no use getting riled up if the guy doesn't even know we're here."

"He wasn't headed _anywhere_; nobody knows what he was doing. They said he was just sitting there with his sword drawn, under one of the trees."

"So what are you worried about? Sounds like the poor sap just got lost."

"You know how clever Waltz was! What are the chances that one of his cronies is coincidentally lost in the woods around Andante?"

Jazz made an exasperated noise and put his hands up in defeat. "Alright, say he's here on purpose – what's he going to do? There's not a hell of a lot of spying to be done in the woods at night, and one man can't exactly put on a siege."

Falsetto raised one arm, pointing to nowhere in particular. "It only takes one person wandering too close for the whole mission to be over."

He opened his mouth to argue that only scouts and lookouts were out there anyway, all of whom could more than handle themselves. And then he closed it again, his eyes growing wide.

Frederic.

Not that the man wasn't a capable fighter – Jazz had a few scars to prove it, actually – but fighting would be the last thing on his mind when he was out to meet a sweetheart. The swordsman stood up and regarded the woman in front of him.

"Alright, we'll cancel the survey shifts for tonight-"

"Are you daft?"

"Let me finish. We'll cancel them for the night and put everyone on guard around the caves; there's no use risking lives if we don't have to. If anything happens, we have all our strongest fighters together in one place."

"What, so he can kill us all at once?"

"I'm pretty sure he doesn't have a _bomb_, Falsetto, and if he does we have much larger things to worry about than who's skulking around in the forests." Falsetto started to say something but Jazz cut her off. "Go find the First Division captain and tell him what's going on."

"Where're you going?"

"To find the scouts who've already gone out for the night."

As soon as she had left, Jazz made his way over to Frederic's room and poked his head in without knocking. Not only was he not in there, he had left his baton behind, propped up against the bed post. Jazz swore softly, not really meaning it.

He found his sword and made his way outside, headed towards where he had seen the pianist the night before. Messages moved fast in Andante, and most all of the scouts had already left their posts, the few stragglers that were left hurrying past when they saw him coming. He caught one girl by the arm and asked if she had, by chance, seen a man dressed all in purple wandering around. She only nodded.

Her directions were precise, and it didn't take long before he found tracks in the mud, although it was hard to tell whose they were in the light of the half-full moon. Jazz followed them for maybe a hundred yards before they ended abruptly in a mass of trees, a convenient place to stop just out of sight. And there was Frederic, fidgeting and glancing down at his pocket watch as he wound the chain around one finger. His head snapped up as Jazz approached, but the question on his lips turned to a quiet sigh before it was fully formed.

"Hello."

Jazz could see an arm wrap itself around Frederic's waist from behind, silver gauntlet flashing in the moonlight. "Where were you last night?" A new voice asked, and the words were punctuated with movement as the figure produced a dark top hat and settled it on the pianist's head. "I was worried."

The shadows fell so that Jazz couldn't see the stranger's face, but he could tell just from the silhouette that it was a man. Was that why Frederic had been so intent on hiding everything – he didn't think they would approve of a male lover? Of course they would have! Or, at least, Jazz would have. He was a hell of a lot of things, but he wasn't a hypocrite.

"I ran into… someone… and had to leave with them." Emphasis on _ran_.

"To protect me." It wasn't a question, but it was said so softly, so almost affectionately, that it wasn't quite a statement, either.

"To protect us," Frederic corrected, and the stranger bent his head to nip at the covered neck. Jazz saw the smaller man's face go pink in the pale light.

"You're incredible, you know," he crooned, and Jazz caught a glimpse of silver hair against Frederic's shoulder. Thank the gods that voice was too low to be Allegretto's. "I wish it didn't have to be this way."

Frederic smiled almost shyly and turned in the embrace, taking a small step backwards. The man followed, coming forward just enough so that the moonlight fell on the front of his russet and maroon armor. He must be a fighter of some sort, Jazz though; maybe he's one of mine.

"I don't mind," the pianist whispered, twining their fingers together. "I have never minded."

"You're so good about everything," the man agreed. "It's still not fair, though. Just 'cause you don't complain that doesn't make it fair."

"It does not need to be fair. Having you more than makes up for everything else."

He heard the shadow laugh softly and saw him lean forward to press his mouth against Frederic's. The glass monocle over one eye glinted, and Jazz stifled a gasp as the familiar face dragged back months worth of repressed memories - the two guardians of the Agogo Forest pressed between himself, Falsetto, and Claves as they drew their weapons in the rain, the bastard's eyes lighting up in sadistic pleasure as he drew his own sword. Blood on the ground, running down young skin in dark, sharp rivers, seeping into the damp earth under their feet. Laughter in their ears as he stood over them, almost unscathed, wiping the red from his rapier blade like nothing had happened.

Could Frederic have possibly loved him then? Or, _had_ he been in love with him then? Jazz heard plenty of stories about the jackass from all sorts of different people… but none of them seemed to matter to Frederic right at that moment.

His arms were wound around the man's neck as they kissed, and he looked so _happy_, so utterly content as one hand reached up to card through silver hair, his head turned to allow better access to his mouth. After a minute they pulled apart, and the bastard bent to push his mouth up against Frederic's pale throat, teeth barred just enough for Jazz to see.

Did he know they were being watched?

But all his attention seemed focused on the man beneath him, and Jazz thought back to all the bruises he'd seen earlier. Small wonder. Frederic began to pant lightly, his head resting against the other's shoulder.

"Fugue…" Yeah, that was his name. Fugue moved his hand up to undo the cravat with expert speed, and Jazz wondered again how many times they'd done this before.

"Shh," he breathed, his lips still against the skin. "Later, Chopin. Don't talk now."

Frederic moaned as long fingers found their way down to his thigh, and obediently he brought his leg up to wrap around Fugue's waist. Jazz could see the blush creeping out from under black hair, and he started to consider the idea that maybe he really shouldn't be here, watching this. Maybe he really ought to leave…

Fugue reached over and drew his rapier and Jazz froze where he stood, one foot already behind him ready to turn. Frederic glanced up at the swordsman's face.

"F-Fugue?" he mumbled, starting to pull away. Fugue held him to his breast. "What's wrong?"

"Did you hear that?" Frederic froze, too, glancing over his shoulder.

"What?"

Jazz took another small step back, his sword throwing off his usual balance as he struggled to keep still. Fugue wrapped his free arm across Frederic's shoulders, pulling the slighter man close against him as he held the blade out in the moonlight.

"Who's there?" The words were meant to come out in a snarl, but all Jazz could hear was alarm. Bastard was more afraid for his own life than anything else. Fredric whimpered, hiding his face in the other's jacket.

Since when had Frederic become helpless?

Fugue glanced up at the trees and then back down at the lover in his arms, and after a second he re-sheathed his sword to hold him tight. "Shh," he murmured, eyes flickering back up to the trees. "We're just fine, baby. No one there. Nothing to worry about."

Frederic kept his face concealed for another minute, not fighting the soothing touches. "I'm sorry," he said finally, clearing his throat. "I should not get so worked up over such small things."

The taller man sighed. "_I'm_ sorry. All this shit is my fault. I bully you out here every night, ask you to risk your life just for me, and then have the nerve to expect you to be brave." He pushed a strand of indigo hair out of the way and leaned in for a kiss. "I know how scared you are."

Jazz waited for the retort, the haughty, don't-you-dare-talk-down-to-me reply they usually got when they tried to tell Frederic he wasn't invincible… but it never came. Instead they kissed again, and when Frederic spoke his voice was low and hoarse and filled with emotion Jazz had never heard before.

"I'm not scared for me, not really. What I fear is being away from you, being too far away to help you if we're found… too far away to die with you if we're killed. I am afraid of what happens in between the nights, in the hours when I don't know where you are or if you're okay."

Fugue's face softened, the sharp lines of his mouth and forehead melting together into a small, warm smile that pushed the monocle up higher on his cheekbone. "Well, I guess I won't offer to take you back home, then." Frederic laughed and nuzzled against his neck. The silver-haired man hooked Frederic's other leg around his waist gently, pressing his nose into the mass of dark hair. "You don't have to worry, you know. About anything. I'll take care of you… of us… if you let me." A pause. "I love you."

Jazz frowned and rolled his eyes; what did those words mean to a cold-blooded murderer like him, anyway? They were just pretty little lies, mindless things to say before you could get laid – and they were working, judging by how Frederic had his thighs open and pressed against the other man's hips in a way that looked almost accidentally raunchy.

"I love you, too," Frederic murmured back, bending down to capture Fugue's lips with his own. "You have no idea how much."

"Too much."

"Not nearly enough."

Fugue snorted and shook his head even as he began to plant tiny kisses across the corners of Frederic's mouth. "You're making me look bad, Chopin. You know I can't love as well as you."

The slighter man sort of giggled and began trying to return the kisses; the sloppy, awkward exchange didn't seem to bother him in the least. "Perhaps you just have not had the chance before."

"Mm, are you suggesting I should _experiment_?" He rocked his hips forward and Frederic squeaked, blush deepening even as he leaned into the touch.

"I- I am certainly not discouraging it."

The swordsman chuckled darkly and moved to kneel on the ground, settling Frederic down between his legs. "No? So I guess I should hurry up before you change your mind."

Frederic squirmed, his face an intense shade of pink. "I have no plans to change my mind."

"H-mm. You obviously don't know what you're getting into."

He stopped moving suddenly as though the statement had been a challenge. "I trust you."

"_Do_ you?" Fugue smirked, rubbing the palm of his hand against the clothed stomach. "You probably shouldn't."

Fredric smiled back, a timid and somehow erotic smile, and began to unfasten his waistcoat one button at a time. "If I didn't trust you, I wouldn't let you do this." To prove it he took one of Fugue's hands in his own and led it down to the newly exposed skin of his upper chest, leaving it there to explore while he worked open the rest of his shirt. Fugue ran his fingers along the crook of his neck, following the lines of his body to cup his jaw in one hand. Their eyes met and Fugue leaned closer until their lips were almost touching, Frederic groaning between soft breaths as rough cloth brushed against him.

"You're so beautiful."

Frederic looped his arms around the man's neck, blushing at the compliment. "Lay with me…?" Fugue's persistent smirk slipped, and Jazz could have sworn he heard his breath hitch.

"Oh, gods, yes. Always."

The swordsman started to pull off his own armor, kissing and licking Frederic's chest and neck as though afraid to move too far away, afraid the offer might expire if he waited too long. Frederic chuckled at the sudden onslaught of attention.

"Eager?"

Fugue paused for a second and leaned up until he could whisper directly into the pianist's ear. "I have learned to take pleasure where I can find it," Frederic shuddered suddenly, "and _you_, my dear, are pure _ecstasy_." Frederic moaned, head lolling back, and his grip tightened on Fugue's shoulders as Jazz made a point not to look at what the swordsman's hands were doing. Something wonderful, apparently.

"I am not sure whether or not that was an insult," Frederic admitted, groaning even as he tried to push Fugue away. "You make it sounds as though I were merely being used."

He snorted, tossing the gauntlets off to one side. "Perhaps you are." He moved until he was straddling Frederic's hips, weight pressing in the most sensitive place. Frederic gasped loudly, both hands flying up to cover his mouth. "Perhaps that is exactly what is going on."

"Hnnn… n-no. You wouldn't do that."

Fugue's eyes flashed a little in the moonlight; a nerve had been hit somewhere. "I'd be careful what I said if I were you, Chopin. I'm armed–"

"And I'm not," Frederic agreed. There was no trace of fear in his voice at all, or anger, only a soft sort of affection as though this were a game they played often.

"Damn straight. And I could kill you with my bare hands if I tried, so I would advise you just lay down and take it, little _artiste._" There was a mocking, sarcastic undertone to his voice, but Jazz had to wonder just how much of that he had meant – and if Frederic knew he was just a stress reliever like everyone else.

As he spoke, Fugue stripped off the rest of his armor and the ornate shirt underneath, leaving both men in just their boots and trousers. The pianist managed to avert his eyes, whimpering slightly when Fugue grasped his chin until he was forced to turn his head back. "Nothing wrong with knowing what you want, Chopin." He punctuated the words with a rough shift of his hips, eliciting another whimper, and waited for an answer for a moment before he began licking Frederic's neck again until the other man was moaning, pressing back.

Fugue made his way down the pale chest, whispering words that Jazz couldn't make out as he teased pink nipples with his tongue. When he reached the waistband of Frederic's trousers he stopped, smirking, and moved back up.

Frederic whined, head lolled back to stare at the sky above them. "Do you _enjoy _this torment?"

"Yeah." And then he crushed their mouths together beforfe the smaller man had a chance to respond. Deft fingers tugged at the laces of his pants, moving the fabric down his hips, and Frederic arched his back just a little as lust began to take over. Jazz stepped back, his face heating up to see his friend in such a vulnerable state. He shouldn't be watching this…

"What was that?" Frederic breathed, sitting up so fast it must have been painful. Fugue didn't answer, instead taking Frederic's face in both his hands and kissing him hard as he led them both back down onto the damp grass.

"Saints, you're tense," Fugue murmured, and Frederic closed his eyes, carding his fingers through the silver hair like it would somehow calm the frantic anxiety. The swordsman laughed and leaned forward, kissing him again more gently. "Maybe I can help with that, hm?" He shifted down so that he was level with the linen undergarments that poked out from above gray-blue trousers, and Frederic only had time to gasp before Fugue's lips were around the base of his shaft, sucking him through the cloth.

Jazz could feel his face going red. He didn't want to be here… but he couldn't exactly leave at this point, either, without running the risk of being caught. Frederic would never live this down if he knew someone else had seen the whole thing, and if there was one thing Jazz didn't want to risk right now it was the frail relationship he had with the man.

Fugue continued to undress them both as his mouth worked, clothes being thrown carelessly off to either side. Frederic seemed simply helpless at this point, legs spread and mouth open, both hands buried in thick hair as though just trying to hold on; he didn't even flinch as Fugue slipped careful fingers under the undergarments and pulled. There was soft surrender written on his face.

"This'll hurt," Fugue breathed, and Frederic just nodded, wincing without having been touched. The swordsman laughed gently, kissing the inside of his thigh as he pressed a finger against his entrance. "It always does, doesn't it?"

"Not… not so much anymore." Jazz could hear the pain in his voice, like he was trying to mask it andf not quite succeeding. Fugue laughed again and reached up to kiss him, one hand pressed awkwardly between their bodies.

Jazz wasn't sure how much more of this he could watch.

"My eternal virgin," Fugue cooed, lips trailing against sweat-slickened skin. "My innocent little virgin."

Frederic winced, turning his head to the side. "Nngh."

"Shh, love, you're just fine. Just fine." His arm twisted a little and Frederic almost cried out, mouth turning down. "Shh, s'okay, I'll hurry."

Frederic wound both arms around Fugue's neck and hid his face.

"It'll feel good soon, baby, I promise." Jazz could hear the concern in his voice, and noticed the way he cradled the dip of Fredric's waist like maybe that could make the pain go away. "Wait a minute and I'll make it better."

"Ahh…" The pianist jerked suddenly, his broken moan stifled against the broad shoulder. Fugue smiled.

"There we go." He moved again and Frederic whimpered, arching off the ground and into the body above him. The swordsman pressed him down again. "Ready, love?"

Frederic opened his eyes, smiling shyly, and there was something significant and almost sacred about the gesture that Jazz couldn't quite grasp. "Yes." And to prove it he stretched his arms out above his head, rolling his head back to bare his throat. Fugue's face darkened.

"Hold still," he murmured, taking hold of Frederic's wrists with one hand, and eased in without any further warning. He paused just a minute before pulling out, pushing back in harder than he should have; Jazz wondered if he'd drawn blood. Frederic took a soft, shuddering breath and the swordsman tightened his grip a little, their fingers twining, and Jazz watched in silent fascination as his friend turned sex into something more.

Frederic brought one leg up around Fugue's waist, planting wet, open-mouthed kisses everywhere his lips could reach. After a minute he tugged one hand away to clutch at the silver hair, and Fugue groaned in the back of his throat.

"Oh, gods, Chopin." He rolled up onto his knees and Frederic followed, moving with him until they were pressed chest to chest, panting softly. The pianist looked so… debauched, mouth open and legs spread, with his gray eyes glazed over with lust and love and bliss. But there was this humility in the way he held himself, in the way he wrapped his other leg around Fugue's middle and then blushed like this was some kind of delicate offering that he wanted so much to give.

Only Frederic could make shamelessness look so beautiful.

Fugue growled and hooked his arm across the pianist's back, supporting his weight as the thrusts got rougher. It was fast and hard, the way Fugue rocked their bodies together and locked their lips, and the only sound was that of skin sliding up against skin, soft grunts and moans from both mouths. But somehow, it wasn't lewd or arousing or dirty or vulgar, it was just... love. Jazz wondered vaguely why he was neither humiliated nor stiff, and it had nothing to do with the fact that it was his best friend out there in front of him.

Frederic was literally clinging to Fugue, to the point where their bodies couldn't get any closer. Every part of them was pressed together, fingers clutching and toes curling as they tried to join just a little bit more.

"I love you," Fugue gasped, "I love you, I love you, I love you." And with one hard thrust they tumbled over the edge together, choked shouts and sobs echoing through the clearing, over the quivering mass of limbs that now lay tangled on the floor.


	4. Chapter 4

**The very last (very unbeta'd) chapter for this fic! For some reason Jazz is starting to sound more and more like a jealous lover. O_o **

**Warnings: Nothing worse than in the last chapter, unless you're allergic to angst and/or fluff... in which case, why are you reading any of my stuff to begin with? **

* * *

Frederic just lay there on the ground, panting, sprawled out under Fugue's full weight that rested between his legs. "I love you," he breathed, tilting his head back to watch the stars that poked out between the trees above them. "I love you, too." He ran his hands up and down his lover's back, pressing the palms down into the muscles of his hips as he kissed the tousled silver hair that lolled against his shoulder.

It couldn't have been a comfortable position to lie in, their bodies still connected with Frederic's legs wrapped around the swordsman's waist, but neither of them seemed to mind too much. Fugue certainly didn't seem to be interested in moving any time soon.

"One day," Frederic breathed, "we're going to fall asleep like this. With you inside of me like this, and I can just hold you to me all night."

"I dream about that," the other man muttered, a smirk evident in his voice. "Often." And then, so softly that Jazz could barely hear him, added, "Sometimes I dream about how it feels like we could never separate again even if we wanted to."

"I dream about that, too."

Fugue turned to look up at the pianist from under his fringe of hair, kissing the joint between shoulder and neck. "Let's not go back. Let's just stay here together forever." He slid out just a little and pressed back in slowly, fucking him with a gentleness Jazz would have never thought him capable of. Frederic sighed and let his eyes flutter shut.

"I wish–"

"We can run away together." He dropped his kisses down to the exposed collar bone, one hand tangled in dark, sweat-sticky curls as he continued to move. "Far, far away, where they'd never find us, and we can live together by the ocean, where it's warm. And I'll build you someplace," he caught Frederic's mouth again, "somewhere they'd never think to look…"

"A little cottage," the pianist mumbled, pulling him closer.

"Yeah, with those red mud-bricks we see them making in town. And we can stay there forever, just you and me, and no one will ever come to make us leave." He rolled them gently until they were side by side, lips and limbs still connected, and Jazz could see the whole expanse of Frederic's white back shimmering under the moonlight.

"Okay." He pressed his nose into the space beneath Fugue's ear, whispering against the fragile skin. "Let's just go away tonight, together – I don't want to go back. I want that life with you."

Jazz's heart sank as he realized what the words really meant. It wasn't that Frederic wanted to leave; hell, even _he_ wanted to escape the hell hole that was fast becoming their lives. But what hurt more was that Frederic had to leave because he couldn't admit to his friends who he was in love with. It hurt because Jazz knew that if he hadn't been there, watching this, he would have shot first and asked questions later just like everyone else. He was one of the people Frederic was hiding from.

"Soon, baby," the swordsman cooed, face regretful although his voice wasn't. "Soon."

"Tonight."

"No, not tonight. Not before I get things figured out." Fugue smiled a little, actually _smiled_, and kissed him on the cheek. "I couldn't risk anything happening to my pretty little virgin."

The slighter man wound both arms around his lover's neck. "Do you promise?"

"Yeah." He kissed him again on the mouth. "Yes, Chopin, I promise."

Frederic hummed softly and returned the gesture. "I love you."

"H-mm. You have no idea."

They lay together in silence for another minute, and just as Jazz was starting to wonder if maybe he could sneak away now Fugue sighed heavily and wrapped his arms around the pianist's waist, finally slipping all the way out. "_Oh_… you have no idea."

He sat up and rubbed a hand across both eyes, reaching for their discarded clothing. The swordsman sorted through the pile of silk and cotton and pulled on his trousers and underclothes, Frederic still lying naked and asleep in the dust.

"Someday, you're going to be mine." He leaned back on one elbow and laced his fingers in with the long white ones on the ground, unaffected by the way his still-unbuttoned pants hung open to the cool night air. "I'm gonna get you a ring," he grinned to himself, "a really big, gaudy ring and make you wear it around everywhere. And you can tell everyone how you're going to come away with me and be my blushing bride."

Frederic murmured wordlessly in his sleep and Fugue chuckled, brushing a lock of dark hair out of his eyes. "Was that a yes?"

"_Jazz_!"

Jazz spun around at the sound of his name and heard someone fumbling around behind him, a sword being drawn from its sheath. "Ja-zz? Are you out here?"

Fuck. Falsetto was out looking for him.

He took a step towards the disembodied voice, literally colliding with the woman a second later. She jumped back in surprise.

"Oh, hell, don't scare me like that!"

"You're going to wake the whole forest," he murmured, doing his best to keep his voice level. If she turned just a little further to the left, she would see everything.

"Where have you been? I need to talk to you, and there's a letter that just came from Baroque that you should look at."

"I… I came out looking for Frederic. He must've come out for a walk, and I wanted to make sure he was okay – y'know, with the enemy sightings we've been having."

"Did you find him?"

He paused, willing himself not to look back at the couple behind him, not to give them away. "No. I guess he got the news."

She nodded curtly, and he knew the worry he'd been feeling all night hadn't fazed her at all; in one ear and out the other. "We need to get back, then. There haven't been any more problems, but I don't really want to stay out here just in case."

She turned and walked away, clearly expecting Jazz to follow. He hesitated. He knew he shouldn't, but he just had to steal one more glance over his shoulder, had to make sure they were both still there and okay, had to know this hadn't been some sort of twisted dream.

Frederic was in Fugue's arms, clearly awake now and clearly terrified. The swordsman had the dark head pressed against his shoulder, blade drawn and held out towards Jazz though he was sure neither of them could see him. His friend looked so small and so vulnerable, nude except for the arm draped across his shoulders, and Jazz felt a sudden swell of affection for the man that held the little pianist to his chest. Even with his fly open and trousers slipping down his hips, he was someone to respect; anyone who would defend Frederic like that was someone to respect.

He listened patiently to Falsetto's prattling all the way back to the caves, finally disentangling himself to go find the afternoon scouts and ask for a description of the man they had seen in the forest – although he was sure he already knew. There was no one else it could have possibly been, and Jazz was glad his experience made him more cautious than some of the newer members of the rebellion. He could never live with himself knowing that he had killed his best friend's lover.

But what if his best friend's lover _deserved_ to be killed? Maybe Fugue was changing now, but it didn't fix all the things he'd done in the past. Wasn't there something to be said for justice… even if justice wasn't the easy choice? Those people he'd slaughtered had all died in vain as long as Waltz's men were still going around free, and even though the war had ended it would never really be _over_. There were too many ghosts and orphans left behind for it to ever really be over.

That was the thing, though. All that pain, all those thousands and thousands of pointless tears had been brought on by a war, a plague of death and hatred. So, logically, the only thing that could mend all the wounds caused by odium would be its opposite – love.

And Frederic and Fugue together were the embodiment of that.

Jazz spent the night awake in the familiar darkness of his quarters, thinking, and it was almost two AM by the time he heard the soft footsteps sneaking back into the room next to his. After a minute he kicked off the blankets and walked out into the hallway, hesitating a little before he knocked on the closed door. "Frederic?"

There was no answer, and he was about to knock again when a soft, hoarse voice murmured, "You may come in."

"Hey… you awake?"

The man was sitting on the edge of the bed, his hat and coat on the duvet beside him. The neckerchief was gone, and Jazz realized that Frederic must _know_ that he knew for him to so willingly display the love-marks that littered his throat. Suddenly everything he'd been planning to say just sounded so wrong, so inadequate a way to describe all the things he was feeling. They sat in dead silence for a long minute, Jazz's fingers still wrapped around the wooden handle of the door. "I was getting worried about you."

"I appreciate your concern–" the words were dead, lines to fill in a script, and Jazz cut him off half way.

"No you don't."

He paused, almost surprised, and squeezed his eyes shut. "No, I… don't. I wish you would have stayed here in the caves."

"You go out with him every night?"

"Nearly."

Jazz had been expecting that answer; it shouldn't have stung as much as it did. He took a step forward and let the door swing shut behind him. "What's his name?"

"Fugue," Frederic breathed, and even from across the room the rebel could see the affection on the kiss bruised lips as they formed the word.

"How long has it been?"

The question was open-ended, but he knew that Frederic understood what he meant. "Months… a little more than a year."

"Since before you moved here." He nodded silently, tears beginning to shine in his exhausted eyes, and Jazz had to wonder if the weariness had to do with something more than just the after-effects of lust. "Why have you been _hiding_ it for so long?"

"I… I just…" The tears started to stream down his face, washing away the pale blush that still remained from earlier. He smeared them away with the cuff of his sleeve. "I'm sorry."

"You don't have to be sorry."

He glanced up for a moment before returning his gaze to the floor. "Are you angry?"

Jazz sighed and took another step forward, resting his hand on the carved bedpost. "I was. But I'm more upset that you've been lying to us for all this time, and sneaking out without anyone knowing. You could very easily have been mistaken for a threat."

"It… is foolish of me."

_Is_. Not was. For some reason that almost made him angry, and he had to clench his jaw on the frustration that threatened to spill out. "Yeah. Yeah, it is."

The pianist finally met Jazz's gaze, head held high even as the tears kept coming. "I will understand if I am a threat now, anyway." He swallowed hard and added, softly, "You have every right to not want to see me again."

"I don't hate you, Frederic, if that's what you're asking." The man smiled a little, body tensed and shaking as he tried to pretend to be strong.

"Thank you. I… I know that."

"So what?"

He looked so pathetic, face set in sharp relief by the moonlight that streamed in, eyes wide and tired and lips smudged red, glistening trails running down both cheeks, and Jazz couldn't help it anymore. He couldn't leave his friend like this. All his plans to stay calm and far away vanished as he sat down on the edge of the bed and drew Frederic into his arms, the familiar warm weight comforting now instead of disheartening the way it usually was holding weeping relatives of the newly-dead. Frederic pressed his cheek against Jazz's, the sobs muffled until they came out as muted whimpers:

"_I can't leave him._"

"Hey– hey, shh," he really wasn't good at reassurances, "no one said anything about leaving him." But the smaller man wasn't listening, too busy suffering under the weight of the guilt he must have been carrying since his relationship with Fugue began. So Jazz pulled him closer and let him cry.

It was strange seeing someone so proud and self-assured break like this, although gods knew he'd seen enough men break to last a lifetime. And, he realized, maybe what he really wanted, more than to fix the damage done by the war, was just to see Frederic happy. Right then he didn't care about good or evil or the colors of their flag; right then the only thing he wanted was for his friend to go back to the dreamy, peaceful look he'd had lying in the dirt with Fugue resting on top of him and inside of him, looking up at the stars.

"You're a brave man," he whispered finally, petting the dark hair, "you know that?" Frederic just shook his head.

"I'm not."

"You really are. It takes a brave man to risk his life every night the way you've been doing."

He choked on a sob and shook his head harder. "That is not bravery, it's stupidity. I'm being so _stupid_."

"For someone you love."

Frederic pulled away, looking up at him with red-rimmed eyes. "What?"

"You do love him, right?"

He swallowed and answered in a whisper. "Yes. Absolutely."

Jazz ignored the mix of feelings in his gut and smiled instead, pulling Frederic back to him so that he couldn't read his face. "I'm not going to ask you to leave him. Not now that I know how much he means to you."

"We're a threat." He almost wished the words were angry, or bitter, or something besides the quiet, empty understanding that _this is the way things are_.

"Yeah," he managed, "you are. You two are a threat to everything Andante stands for… but… maybe that's not a bad thing."

Jazz stopped, not quite knowing how to continue, and they sat in silence for a minute as Frederic tried to comprehend what his friend meant. "I- I don't understand."

"I've been thinking about that all night, what you just said. And you're right: you and Fugue are a threat to every single thing we stand for. But what you have–" he paused and took a breath. "Frederic, what I saw tonight was something beautiful. It's something we should all want, and if it goes against Andante maybe Andante is doing this wrong. Maybe we _need_ to be threatened."

The smaller man was staring at him, all tears forgotten. "Do you mean that?"

"I can't promise everybody else is going to take so kindly to the idea of you sleeping around with one of Waltz's men, but I'll do whatever I can to help you two."

"I don't…" Frederic glanced away, once again fascinated with the design of the coverlet. "I am not sure I w-want to tell the others, if it's alright with you."

"That's probably a good idea. You might be accused of treason or witchcraft or something." The pianist smiled, and Jazz pretended to brush dirt off his clothes as he stood up. "I'll let you get some sleep then, I guess. Do you want any medicine before I go?"

"Medicine?"

"I'm not a virgin, Chopin. I know how much it hurts."

Frederic went bright red and Jazz laughed, resisting the urge to ruffle the other man's hair. It looked like Fugue would definitely get his blushing bride. "N-no, ah, but… but thank you. I'll be alright."

"Okay, then, goodnight. I'll see you in the morning." He gave him one last smile and turned back towards the door, very, very ready to get in to his own bed and put the whole night behind him for a little while.

"Jazz?" He glanced over his shoulder to see the pianist fingering his laced cravat, eyes downcast although Jazz could see he was smiling. "Thank you."

The rebel smiled and pushed the door open. "Any time."


End file.
